


headline from this day on

by spock



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s), POV Outsider, Platonic Life Partners, Protectiveness, Sharing a Bed, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere along the line Walter and Ian's lives split up, just like they expected, except Walter's the one stuck inside a stuffy basement office, and Ian keeps running into all the crazy, fantastical shit that he would rather avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	headline from this day on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yaseanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaseanne/gifts).



Growing up, Ian used to love playing with Walter, who lived a few blocks down the street and always came up with the best games, fantastical ones involving things they never learned in school; they played at being sheiks, ruling the deserts of ancient Siam, or as mermen who fought sharks and cuddled up to octopi just on the outskirts of Atlantis. Walter knew a little bit about everything, but he never lorded it over Ian, even though Ian loved to tease Walter over how bad he was at math whenever Ian helped him with his homework, both of them rushing through it so that they could go outside and play.

Ian always expected for Walter to settle into a job that would have him jettisoning around the world, meeting new people and seeing impossible things. Ian was the one who was supposed to be cooped up in an office, talking over his co-workers heads while he crunched numbers and kept track of the time difference between whatever time zone Walter was in and New York, so that Ian could call him up after work and live vicariously through him.

Somewhere along the line, their lives split up, just like they expected them to, except Walter's the one stuck inside a stuffy basement office, and Ian keeps running into all the crazy, fantastical shit that he would rather avoid.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Ian does after talking to Gennaro is call up Walter. To gloat, mostly, but also because it's just too damn good to be true.

"Dinosaurs," Ian says as soon as the line connects, cutting off Walter's _hello_. "They're real and I'm going to hang out with them."

"Bullshit," Walter snipes back. Ian spent a lot of their childhood making a sport out of persuading Walter to believe a lot of different lies. Eventually Walter caught on, but it took long enough that even now he's aggressive in not believing a single word that slips from Ian's lips.

"Believe it or not, whatever. This isn't actually a personal call." Walter laughs, dry and disbelieving. Ian ignores him and continues on, "Are you still pals with that adventurer — O'Donnell? I want to see if I can get him in on this."

"Sean O'Connell," Walter corrects, stressing the name. Ian's had to hear about the great Sean O'Connell for years, second-hand tales that Walter recounts to him every chance he gets, ad fucking nauseum, always slightly breathless. Ian has no idea what's going on there and he isn't all that sure that he ever wants to find out.

"Yeah, him," Ian agrees. "He's good at tracking animals and shit, right? I'm going to use that as cover, but I think I'm going to need him to document whatever the fuck's going on out there. The guy whose called me in has a board of investors on his ass. They’re gonna want detailed accounts of what's going on."

"Ian, please don't get Sean tangled up in whatever prank you're trying to pull on me," Walter begs. "I know you're an asshole, but let’s just not."

"Not everything is about you, Walter," Ian dismisses. "Actually, you know what? You can probably come along too. It’s up to you two to come up with a good enough cover story, though. Now be a good boy and give me his number."

 

* * *

 

Gennaro isn't happy that Ian’s brought along an entourage. Ian smiles good-naturedly, like he has no idea Gennaro's pissed, and motions at Sean. "Gennaro, Sean O'Connell," Ian introduces. "The brunet skulking behind him is Walter Mitty, his assistant." Walter waves, awkward, his body still half-hidden behind Sean's.

"Jesus Malcolm, his _assistant_? What part of need-to-know-basis was so hard to comprehend?"

They stand around for a few seconds: Gennaro pissed, Walter fidgeting, Sean with this serene, zen smile on his face. Ian should probably change the subject, get them back on track, because now that Walter knows the score there's no reason to leave him behind anyway, but he's never been good at leaving well enough alone.

"They're a package deal, Don. Can't have one without the other," Ian smiles Walter's way, hoping to come off as pleasantly involved, but with no otherwise vested interest in sharing this tidbit of information. He knows that Walter will be able to see right through him, though, and tell that Ian’s living for this shit. "They're lovers too, isn't that great? It's always nice to see a couple that can work together."

Walter's face pinks up and he looks away from them, eyes going a bit hazy in the way they do whenever he's headed off into his own little world. Sean turns and wraps an arm around Walter's middle, pulling him into his side. Ian frowns, ready to knock Walter back into reality before his mind can really get going, but Sean beats him to it — he tips Walter's chin up and kisses him.

Ian's eyebrows raise high above the frames of his glasses. He watches Walter's eyes slip closed as Sean's fingers stroke along the length of his neck.

Ian does everything he can to bite back the laughter that's pressing up against his teeth. He leaves them to it, turning to Gennaro and not bothering to lower his voice as he says, "See, total lovebirds. And a lawsuit you probably don't want to deal with." A car pulls up then, Hammond and his two paleo-eggheads stepping out of the backseat. Gennaro heads over to greet them.

While they're distracted with their gear, Ian lightly kicks at the back of Walter's knee, sending him tottering to the side as his leg gives out from under him, lips finally pulling away from Sean's.

"Alright, save some for the next showing, why don't you," Ian tells them under his breath, giving Walter a look out of the corner of his eye. "Gennaro's sold."

With everybody there, the pilot tells them that they’re good to go in a few minutes. He also mentions that while everybody should fit, the cabin sits six comfortably, so one of them is going to have to snuggle up in the other’s lap.

"It's fine," Walter dismisses, "I'll sit on Ian's lap. Not like it'll be the first time."

Which is true; they spent a decent amount of their childhood stuck in the back of cars, two scrawny kids who had to carve out space for themselves in any way they could, which usually meant enough for _one_ , but as far as any of their parents were concerned they were basically two halves of the same kid anyway. Any other time Ian would agree, but he is not about to spend a few hours of his life reliving those days when he can instead get a whole seat to himself and embarrass Walter in the process.

"Oh I couldn't," Ian says. "You go ahead and sit in Sean's lap. I know how jealous he was of how close we are, back when you two first got together. No need to dredge that back up."

It's the first thing he's said all day that's managed to get a rise out of O'Connell. His mouth tips down at the corners, as close to frowning as Ian figures the guy actually gets. Ian smirks back his way, meeting his eyes through the tinted lenses of his shades.

 

* * *

 

Ian was wrong, the dinosaurs are actually a thing, not some prank or gimmicky, sized-down attraction.

The improbability of what they've accomplished actually has him giddy for the first time in years. There's a million things that could go wrong — that have probably _already_ gone wrong, even though none of them realize it yet — but for once Ian doesn't care. He actually manages to turn off the part of his brain that's always running numbers and coming up with worst case scenarios.

 

* * *

 

Ian was right; bringing back dinosaurs was a completely fucking awful idea.

 

* * *

 

Sean and Walter get separated from Ian just before shit actually goes down, Sean wanting to take some pictures of the dinosaurs at night and Walter tagging along, pivoting his usual role of besotted idiot into his newfound one of assistant.

Walter's a constant worry for Ian, niggling at the back of his mind the entire time that he's running for his own life, hoping to god that Sean's the chivalrous type who'll sacrifice himself if it comes down to saving Walter's life or his own.

It's almost a disappointment, to find Walter and Sean waiting for them at the helicopter's launch pad, alive and well. They're not even worse for wear, clothes slightly damp, but that's it: no cuts or bruises or missing limbs.

"Where the fuck have you to been?" Ian demands. His leg aches, pain flaring up as he practically throws himself in Walter's arms, hugging him tightly, forcing Walter to shoulder some of his weight. "Why are you two completely fine? I almost lost my goddamn leg."

Off to the side of them, Hammond tells Sean to help Walter get Ian into the helicopter, and Sean obeys, grabbing on to Ian's other side as they guide him into the cabin. Their pilot doesn't waste any time taking off, lifting up into the air before they've even got the door properly closed.

After all it took to get back to safety, flying away from Isla Nublar feels almost anticlimactic. Ian almost wishes that they'd managed to leave behind more actual, tangible carnage in their wake; maybe blow some shit up. He'd feel a lot better if there were plumes of smoke and small explosions rising up in their wake.

Ian fully expects to have a lot of dinosaur-related nightmares in the upcoming months.

He dazedly watches Ellie moon over Alan as he cuddles up with the kids, mentally keeping up a running dialog of all the ways he lucked out by never succeeding on hitting on her. He's spent enough time with potential girlfriends around his daughter to know that he hates being seen as a hero for doing basic dad shit.

His eyes loll over to Walter, who's sitting in Sean's lap again, directly across from Ian, Ian's splinted leg spread out across the isle, foot resting in Walter’s lap. One of Sean's hands is rubbing circles into Walter's side and it takes Ian a few minutes of sluggish blinking to put two and two together.

"Did you two seriously figure out your shit while I almost died? While I almost died _multiple times_?!"

 

* * *

 

The leg means that Ian's out of commission for a while. It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd managed to splint it right after the injury, his doctors say, but all the running around he did with it means that he has to stay as immobile as humanly possible if he wants it to heal up right. They ask Ian just what exactly it was that bit him, but they never take him at face-value when he tells them that it was a fucking dinosaur. Ian finds the whole thing more than a little annoying.

He's bitter enough about what happened that he invites himself over to Walter's for the duration of his convalescence, volunteering Walter to be his nursemaid; it's been a while since he's been in the city for an extended period of time and he's between girlfriends anyhow.

He's not the only one who sticks around. Sean invents has some flimsy reason to hang around the city as well, and _of course_ he doesn't have a permanent address to return to.

Ian gives him cheap hotel recommendations but Walter undermines all that by inviting Sean to stay with them. In Walter's one bedroom apartment. "Sean, have you ever heard of the saying, ' _two's company, three's a crowd_ '?" Ian drawls.

Walter's off making dinner, and usually Ian would help, but his leg’s fucked up. Sean's sitting beside him on the couch, useless with no such excuse to hide behind. Ian doesn't like the idea of Walter shacking up with some asshole who won't even help him cook for his injured friend.

Sean hums out a considering noise, letting his head roll onto the back of the couch so that his gaze is trained up at the ceiling. "Doesn't it usually apply to the actual people who're in a relationship?"

"You know what," Ian says, as if he hasn't been angling for this conversation from the start. "I'm so glad you brought that up."

"Ian!" Walter shouts from the kitchen. "Cut it out, or I'll finish what those raptors didn't."

The rest of the night goes on like that, Ian trying to interrogate Sean and Walter cutting him off at the bend, before Ian can really dig his claws in.

It's second nature to hobble into Walter's bedroom after he's done washing up for the night, more than a little excited at the thought of stretching out his bum leg.

Except Sean ruins all that, because he’s stretched out overtop of Walter, pressing kisses into his neck.

"Woah, woah," Ian complains, flipping on the light, hoping that Sean will spring away from Walter, finding himself torn between disappointment and begrudging-approval when Sean stays right where he is. "I sleep there."

" _Ian_ ", Walter whines.

"I'm injured! I almost died! Via dinosaur!" Ian actually cannot believe this shit. "You could’ve lost _me_ , your dearest and most longstanding friend, to a dinosaur attack." There's nobody on Earth that can guilt trip Walter as well as Ian does.

Walter waves Ian over to the bed with a sigh. He looks up at Sean and says, "I am so sorry about this." Sean smiles like a fucking monk and rolls off him, settling in on the other side of the bed.

"It's all right," Sean promises. His voice has taken on this smooth, gentle quality that even manages to send little pin-prick shivers up Ian's spine. "I mostly just wanted to sleep next to you, anyway." It's a line so disgustingly smooth that Ian's disappointed in himself for never having used it before. Walter's face softens, eyes getting a little glassy, and Ian's had about enough of this.

"I don't think that couch has enough room for the two of you to shack up on it," Ian says, doing his best to burst _that_ particular bubble. Sean shoots him an amused look, and that's when Ian realizes that he's officially lost this fight.

"I think all three of us can fit here." For some reason Walter has a California King, so they actually will all fit, probably with room to spare. Ian had thought that Sean would be easier to manage, some zen stoner with a hard-on for shit that would put his life in danger; now Ian's realizing that the quicker he reevaluates that theory, the better.

Still, Ian hates to lose, so he talks himself into sleeping in the middle. It’ll be the best way to make sure nobody jostles his leg and it means that they can get up in the middle of the night without having to worry about waking him up. This way, everybody wins.

That's his story, anyway.


End file.
